William Shakespeare The Merchant Of Venice

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The Merchant of VeniceWilliam Shakespeare

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The DUKE OF VENICE. (DUKE:),The PRINCE OF MOROCCO (MOROCCO:),The PRINCE OF ARRAGON(ARRAGON:)—

suitors to Portia.

ANTONIO—a merchant of Venice.

BASSANIO—his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.

SALANIO,SALARINO,GRATIANO—

friends to Antonio and Bassanio.

SALERIO,LORENZO—

in love with Jessica.

SHYLOCK—a rich Jew.

TUBAL—a Jew, his friend.

LAUNCELOT GOBBO—the clown, servant to SHYLOCK. (LAUNCELOT:)

OLD GOBBO—father to Launcelot. (GOBBO:)

LEONARDO—servant to BASSANIO.

BALTHASAR,STEPHANO—

servants to PORTIA.

PORTIA—a rich heiress.

NERISSA—her waiting-maid.

JESSICA—daughter to SHYLOCK.

MAGNIFICOES OF VENICE, OFFICERS OF THE COURT OF JUSTICE,GAOLER, SERVANTS TO PORTIA, AND OTHER ATTENDANTS—

(SERVANT:)(CLERK:)

SCENE—Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of PORTIA, on the Continent.



ACT I

SCENE IVenice. A street.

[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

ANTONIOIn sooth, I know not why I am so sad:It wearies me; you say it wearies you;But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,I am to learn;And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,That I have much ado to know myself.

SALARINOYour mind is tossing on the ocean;There, where your argosies with portly sail,Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,Do overpeer the petty traffickers,That curtsy to them, do them reverence,As they fly by them with their woven wings.

SALANIOBelieve me, sir, had I such venture forth,The better part of my affections wouldBe with my hopes abroad. I should be stillPlucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;And every object that might make me fearMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubtWould make me sad.

SALARINOMy wind cooling my brothWould blow me to an ague, when I thoughtWhat harm a wind too great at sea might do.I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,But I should think of shallows and of flats,And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,Vailing her high-top lower than her ribsTo kiss her burial. Should I go to churchAnd see the holy edifice of stone,And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,Would scatter all her spices on the stream,Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,And, in a word, but even now worth this,And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thoughtTo think on this, and shall I lack the thoughtThat such a thing bechanced would make me sad?But tell not me; I know, AntonioIs sad to think upon his merchandise.

ANTONIOBelieve me, no: I thank my fortune for it,My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate

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Upon the fortune of this present year:Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.

SALARINOWhy, then you are in love.

ANTONIOFie, fie!

SALARINONot in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easyFor you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:Some that will evermore peep through their eyesAnd laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,And other of such vinegar aspectThat they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.

[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO]

SALANIOHere comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:We leave you now with better company.

SALARINOI would have stay'd till I had made you merry,If worthier friends had not prevented me.

ANTONIOYour worth is very dear in my regard.I take it, your own business calls on youAnd you embrace the occasion to depart.

SALARINOGood morrow, my good lords.

BASSANIOGood signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?

SALARINOWe'll make our leisures to attend on yours.

[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]

LORENZOMy Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,We two will leave you: but at dinner-time,I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.

BASSANIOI will not fail you.

GRATIANOYou look not well, Signior Antonio;You have too much respect upon the world:They lose it that do buy it with much care:Believe me, you are marvellously changed.



ANTONIOI hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;A stage where every man must play a part,And mine a sad one.

GRATIANOLet me play the fool:With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,And let my liver rather heat with wineThan my heart cool with mortifying groans.Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundiceBy being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio—I love thee, and it is my love that speaks—There are a sort of men whose visagesDo cream and mantle like a standing pond,And do a wilful stillness entertain,With purpose to be dress'd in an opinionOf wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'O my Antonio, I do know of theseThat therefore only are reputed wiseFor saying nothing; when, I am very sure,If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.I'll tell thee more of this another time:But fish not, with this melancholy bait,For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

LORENZOWell, we will leave you then till dinner-time:I must be one of these same dumb wise men,For Gratiano never lets me speak.

GRATIANOWell, keep me company but two years moe,Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.

ANTONIOFarewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.

GRATIANOThanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendableIn a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.

[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO]

ANTONIOIs that any thing now?

BASSANIOGratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, morethan any man in all Venice. His reasons are as twograins of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: youshall seek all day ere you find them, and when youhave them, they are not worth the search.



ANTONIOWell, tell me now what lady is the sameTo whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,That you to-day promised to tell me of?

BASSANIO'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,How much I have disabled mine estate,By something showing a more swelling portThan my faint means would grant continuance:Nor do I now make moan to be abridgedFrom such a noble rate; but my chief careIs to come fairly off from the great debtsWherein my time something too prodigalHath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,I owe the most, in money and in love,And from your love I have a warrantyTo unburden all my plots and purposesHow to get clear of all the debts I owe.

ANTONIOI pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;And if it stand, as you yourself still do,Within the eye of honour, be assured,My purse, my person, my extremest means,Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

BASSANIOIn my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,I shot his fellow of the self-same flightThe self-same way with more advised watch,To find the other forth, and by adventuring bothI oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,Because what follows is pure innocence.I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,That which I owe is lost; but if you pleaseTo shoot another arrow that self wayWhich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,As I will watch the aim, or to find bothOr bring your latter hazard back againAnd thankfully rest debtor for the first.

ANTONIOYou know me well, and herein spend but timeTo wind about my love with circumstance;And out of doubt you do me now more wrongIn making question of my uttermostThan if you had made waste of all I have:Then do but say to me what I should doThat in your knowledge may by me be done,And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.

BASSANIOIn Belmont is a lady richly left;And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyesI did receive fair speechless messages:Her name is Portia, nothing undervaluedTo Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,For the four winds blow in from every coastRenowned suitors, and her sunny locks



Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,And many Jasons come in quest of her.O my Antonio, had I but the meansTo hold a rival place with one of them,I have a mind presages me such thrift,That I should questionless be fortunate!

ANTONIOThou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;Neither have I money nor commodityTo raise a present sum: therefore go forth;Try what my credit can in Venice do:That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.Go, presently inquire, and so will I,Where money is, and I no question makeTo have it of my trust or for my sake.

[Exeunt]

ACT I

SCENE IIBelmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]

PORTIABy my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary ofthis great world.

NERISSAYou would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were inthe same abundance as your good fortunes are: andyet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeitwith too much as they that starve with nothing. Itis no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in themean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, butcompetency lives longer.

PORTIAGood sentences and well pronounced.

NERISSAThey would be better, if well followed.

PORTIAIf to do were as easy as to know what were good todo, chapels had been churches and poor men'scottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine thatfollows his own instructions: I can easier teachtwenty what were good to be done, than be one of thetwenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain maydevise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leapso'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness theyouth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel thecripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion tochoose me a husband. O me, the word 'choose!' I mayneither choose whom I would nor refuse whom Idislike; so is the will of a living daughter curbed



by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard,Nerissa, that I cannot choose one nor refuse none?

NERISSAYour father was ever virtuous; and holy men at theirdeath have good inspirations: therefore the lottery,that he hath devised in these three chests of gold,silver and lead, whereof who chooses his meaningchooses you, will, no doubt, never be chosen by anyrightly but one who shall rightly love. But whatwarmth is there in your affection towards any ofthese princely suitors that are already come?

PORTIAI pray thee, over-name them; and as thou namestthem, I will describe them; and, according to mydescription, level at my affection.

NERISSAFirst, there is the Neapolitan prince.

PORTIAAy, that's a colt indeed, for he doth nothing buttalk of his horse; and he makes it a greatappropriation to his own good parts, that he canshoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady hismother played false with a smith.

NERISSAThen there is the County Palatine.

PORTIAHe doth nothing but frown, as who should say 'If youwill not have me, choose:' he hears merry tales andsmiles not: I fear he will prove the weepingphilosopher when he grows old, being so full ofunmannerly sadness in his youth. I had rather bemarried to a death's-head with a bone in his mouththan to either of these. God defend me from thesetwo!

NERISSAHow say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon?

PORTIAGod made him, and therefore let him pass for a man.In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker: but,he! why, he hath a horse better than theNeapolitan's, a better bad habit of frowning thanthe Count Palatine; he is every man in no man; if athrostle sing, he falls straight a capering: he willfence with his own shadow: if I should marry him, Ishould marry twenty husbands. If he would despise meI would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, Ishall never requite him.

NERISSAWhat say you, then, to Falconbridge, the young baronof England?

PORTIAYou know I say nothing to him, for he understands



not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French,nor Italian, and you will come into the court andswear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English.He is a proper man's picture, but, alas, who canconverse with a dumb-show? How oddly he is suited!I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his roundhose in France, his bonnet in Germany and hisbehavior every where.

NERISSAWhat think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour?

PORTIAThat he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for heborrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman andswore he would pay him again when he was able: Ithink the Frenchman became his surety and sealedunder for another.

NERISSAHow like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's nephew?

PORTIAVery vilely in the morning, when he is sober, andmost vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk: whenhe is best, he is a little worse than a man, andwhen he is worst, he is little better than a beast:and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shallmake shift to go without him.

NERISSAIf he should offer to choose, and choose the rightcasket, you should refuse to perform your father'swill, if you should refuse to accept him.

PORTIATherefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set adeep glass of rhenish wine on the contrary casket,for if the devil be within and that temptationwithout, I know he will choose it. I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.

NERISSAYou need not fear, lady, the having any of theselords: they have acquainted me with theirdeterminations; which is, indeed, to return to theirhome and to trouble you with no more suit, unlessyou may be won by some other sort than your father'simposition depending on the caskets.

PORTIAIf I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die aschaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the mannerof my father's will. I am glad this parcel of wooersare so reasonable, for there is not one among thembut I dote on his very absence, and I pray God grantthem a fair departure.

NERISSADo you not remember, lady, in your father's time, aVenetian, a scholar and a soldier, that came hitherin company of the Marquis of Montferrat?



PORTIAYes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, he was so called.

NERISSATrue, madam: he, of all the men that ever my foolisheyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.

PORTIAI remember him well, and I remember him worthy ofthy praise.

[Enter a Serving-man]

How now! what news?

ServantThe four strangers seek for you, madam, to taketheir leave: and there is a forerunner come from afifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings word theprince his master will be here to-night.

PORTIAIf I could bid the fifth welcome with so good aheart as I can bid the other four farewell, I shouldbe glad of his approach: if he have the conditionof a saint and the complexion of a devil, I hadrather he should shrive me than wive me. Come,Nerissa. Sirrah, go before.Whiles we shut the gatesupon one wooer, another knocks at the door.

[Exeunt]

ACT I

SCENE IIIVenice. A public place.

[Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK]

SHYLOCKThree thousand ducats; well.

BASSANIOAy, sir, for three months.

SHYLOCKFor three months; well.

BASSANIOFor the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.

SHYLOCKAntonio shall become bound; well.

BASSANIOMay you stead me? will you pleasure me? shall Iknow your answer?

SHYLOCK



Three thousand ducats for three months and Antonio bound.

BASSANIOYour answer to that.

SHYLOCKAntonio is a good man.

BASSANIOHave you heard any imputation to the contrary?

SHYLOCKOh, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is agood man is to have you understand me that he issufficient. Yet his means are in supposition: hehath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to theIndies; I understand moreover, upon the Rialto, hehath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, andother ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But shipsare but boards, sailors but men: there be land-ratsand water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves, Imean pirates, and then there is the peril of waters,winds and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding,sufficient. Three thousand ducats; I think I maytake his bond.

BASSANIOBe assured you may.

SHYLOCKI will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured,I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio?

BASSANIOIf it please you to dine with us.

SHYLOCKYes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation whichyour prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. Iwill buy with you, sell with you, talk with you,walk with you, and so following, but I will not eatwith you, drink with you, nor pray with you. Whatnews on the Rialto? Who is he comes here?

[Enter ANTONIO]

BASSANIOThis is Signior Antonio.

SHYLOCK[Aside] How like a fawning publican he looks!I hate him for he is a Christian,But more for that in low simplicityHe lends out money gratis and brings downThe rate of usance here with us in Venice.If I can catch him once upon the hip,I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.He hates our sacred nation, and he rails,Even there where merchants most do congregate,On me, my bargains and my well-won thrift,Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe,If I forgive him!



BASSANIOShylock, do you hear?

SHYLOCKI am debating of my present store,And, by the near guess of my memory,I cannot instantly raise up the grossOf full three thousand ducats. What of that?Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe,Will furnish me. But soft! how many monthsDo you desire?

[To ANTONIO]

Rest you fair, good signior;Your worship was the last man in our mouths.

ANTONIOShylock, although I neither lend nor borrowBy taking nor by giving of excess,Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend,I'll break a custom. Is he yet possess'dHow much ye would?

SHYLOCKAy, ay, three thousand ducats.

ANTONIOAnd for three months.

SHYLOCKI had forgot; three months; you told me so.Well then, your bond; and let me see; but hear you;Methought you said you neither lend nor borrowUpon advantage.

ANTONIOI do never use it.

SHYLOCKWhen Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep—This Jacob from our holy Abram was,As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,The third possessor; ay, he was the third—

ANTONIOAnd what of him? did he take interest?

SHYLOCKNo, not take interest, not, as you would say,Directly interest: mark what Jacob did.When Laban and himself were compromisedThat all the eanlings which were streak'd and piedShould fall as Jacob's hire, the ewes, being rank,In the end of autumn turned to the rams,And, when the work of generation wasBetween these woolly breeders in the act,The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands,And, in the doing of the deed of kind,He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes,Who then conceiving did in eaning time



Fall parti-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's.This was a way to thrive, and he was blest:And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not.

ANTONIOThis was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for;A thing not in his power to bring to pass,But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven.Was this inserted to make interest good?Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams?

SHYLOCKI cannot tell; I make it breed as fast:But note me, signior.

ANTONIOMark you this, Bassanio,The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.An evil soul producing holy witnessIs like a villain with a smiling cheek,A goodly apple rotten at the heart:O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

SHYLOCKThree thousand ducats; 'tis a good round sum.Three months from twelve; then, let me see; the rate—

ANTONIOWell, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you?

SHYLOCKSignior Antonio, many a time and oftIn the Rialto you have rated meAbout my moneys and my usances:Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,And all for use of that which is mine own.Well then, it now appears you need my help:Go to, then; you come to me, and you say'Shylock, we would have moneys:' you say so;You, that did void your rheum upon my beardAnd foot me as you spurn a stranger curOver your threshold: moneys is your suitWhat should I say to you? Should I not say'Hath a dog money? is it possibleA cur can lend three thousand ducats?' OrShall I bend low and in a bondman's key,With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this;'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;You spurn'd me such a day; another timeYou call'd me dog; and for these courtesiesI'll lend you thus much moneys'?

ANTONIOI am as like to call thee so again,To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.If thou wilt lend this money, lend it notAs to thy friends; for when did friendship takeA breed for barren metal of his friend?But lend it rather to thine enemy,



Who, if he break, thou mayst with better faceExact the penalty.

SHYLOCKWhy, look you, how you storm!I would be friends with you and have your love,Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with,Supply your present wants and take no doitOf usance for my moneys, and you'll not hear me:This is kind I offer.

BASSANIOThis were kindness.

SHYLOCKThis kindness will I show.Go with me to a notary, seal me thereYour single bond; and, in a merry sport,If you repay me not on such a day,In such a place, such sum or sums as areExpress'd in the condition, let the forfeitBe nominated for an equal poundOf your fair flesh, to be cut off and takenIn what part of your body pleaseth me.

ANTONIOContent, i' faith: I'll seal to such a bondAnd say there is much kindness in the Jew.

BASSANIOYou shall not seal to such a bond for me:I'll rather dwell in my necessity.

ANTONIOWhy, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it:Within these two months, that's a month beforeThis bond expires, I do expect returnOf thrice three times the value of this bond.

SHYLOCKO father Abram, what these Christians are,Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspectThe thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this;If he should break his day, what should I gainBy the exaction of the forfeiture?A pound of man's flesh taken from a manIs not so estimable, profitable neither,As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say,To buy his favour, I extend this friendship:If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

ANTONIOYes Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.

SHYLOCKThen meet me forthwith at the notary's;Give him direction for this merry bond,And I will go and purse the ducats straight,See to my house, left in the fearful guardOf an unthrifty knave, and presentlyI will be with you.



ANTONIOHie thee, gentle Jew.

[Exit Shylock]

The Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows kind.

BASSANIOI like not fair terms and a villain's mind.

ANTONIOCome on: in this there can be no dismay;My ships come home a month before the day.

[Exeunt]

ACT II

SCENE IBelmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF MOROCCOand his train; PORTIA, NERISSA, and othersattending]

MOROCCOMislike me not for my complexion,The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,To whom I am a neighbour and near bred.Bring me the fairest creature northward born,Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,And let us make incision for your love,To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mineHath fear'd the valiant: by my love I swearThe best-regarded virgins of our climeHave loved it too: I would not change this hue,Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.

PORTIAIn terms of choice I am not solely ledBy nice direction of a maiden's eyes;Besides, the lottery of my destinyBars me the right of voluntary choosing:But if my father had not scanted meAnd hedged me by his wit, to yield myselfHis wife who wins me by that means I told you,Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fairAs any comer I have look'd on yetFor my affection.

MOROCCOEven for that I thank you:Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the casketsTo try my fortune. By this scimitarThat slew the Sophy and a Persian princeThat won three fields of Sultan Solyman,I would outstare the sternest eyes that look,Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth,Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear,



Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey,To win thee, lady. But, alas the while!If Hercules and Lichas play at diceWhich is the better man, the greater throwMay turn by fortune from the weaker hand:So is Alcides beaten by his page;And so may I, blind fortune leading me,Miss that which one unworthier may attain,And die with grieving.

PORTIAYou must take your chance,And either not attempt to choose at allOr swear before you choose, if you choose wrongNever to speak to lady afterwardIn way of marriage: therefore be advised.

MOROCCONor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance.

PORTIAFirst, forward to the temple: after dinnerYour hazard shall be made.

MOROCCOGood fortune then!To make me blest or cursed'st among men.

[Cornets, and exeunt]

ACT II

SCENE IIVenice. A street.

[Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOTCertainly my conscience will serve me to run fromthis Jew my master. The fiend is at mine elbow andtempts me saying to me 'Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, goodLauncelot,' or 'good Gobbo,' or good LauncelotGobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away. Myconscience says 'No; take heed,' honest Launcelot;take heed, honest Gobbo, or, as aforesaid, 'honestLauncelot Gobbo; do not run; scorn running with thyheels. ' Well, the most courageous fiend bids mepack: 'Via!' says the fiend; 'away!' says thefiend; 'for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind,'says the fiend, 'and run. ' Well, my conscience,hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wiselyto me 'My honest friend Launcelot, being an honestman's son,' or rather an honest woman's son; for,indeed, my father did something smack, somethinggrow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my consciencesays 'Launcelot, budge not. ' 'Budge,' says thefiend. 'Budge not,' says my conscience.'Conscience,' say I, 'you counsel well;' ' Fiend,'say I, 'you counsel well:' to be ruled by myconscience, I should stay with the Jew my master,who, God bless the mark, is a kind of devil; and, to



run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by thefiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devilhimself. Certainly the Jew is the very devilincarnal; and, in my conscience, my conscience isbut a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counselme to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the morefriendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels areat your command; I will run.

[Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket]

GOBBOMaster young man, you, I pray you, which is the wayto master Jew's?

LAUNCELOT[Aside] O heavens, this is my true-begotten father!who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind,knows me not: I will try confusions with him.

GOBBOMaster young gentleman, I pray you, which is the wayto master Jew's?

LAUNCELOTTurn up on your right hand at the next turning, but,at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, atthe very next turning, turn of no hand, but turndown indirectly to the Jew's house.

GOBBOBy God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. Canyou tell me whether one Launcelot,that dwells with him, dwell with him or no?

LAUNCELOTTalk you of young Master Launcelot?

[Aside]

Mark me now; now will I raise the waters. Talk youof young Master Launcelot?

GOBBONo master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father,though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor manand, God be thanked, well to live.

LAUNCELOTWell, let his father be what a' will, we talk ofyoung Master Launcelot.

GOBBOYour worship's friend and Launcelot, sir.

LAUNCELOTBut I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you,talk you of young Master Launcelot?

GOBBOOf Launcelot, an't please your mastership.



LAUNCELOTErgo, Master Launcelot. Talk not of MasterLauncelot, father; for the young gentleman,according to Fates and Destinies and such oddsayings, the Sisters Three and such branches oflearning, is indeed deceased, or, as you would sayin plain terms, gone to heaven.

GOBBOMarry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of myage, my very prop.

LAUNCELOTDo I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff ora prop? Do you know me, father?

GOBBOAlack the day, I know you not, young gentleman:but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, God rest hissoul, alive or dead?

LAUNCELOTDo you not know me, father?

GOBBOAlack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not.

LAUNCELOTNay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail ofthe knowing me: it is a wise father that knows hisown child. Well, old man, I will tell you news ofyour son: give me your blessing: truth will cometo light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's sonmay, but at the length truth will out.

GOBBOPray you, sir, stand up: I am sure you are notLauncelot, my boy.

LAUNCELOTPray you, let's have no more fooling about it, butgive me your blessing: I am Launcelot, your boythat was, your son that is, your child that shallbe.

GOBBOI cannot think you are my son.

LAUNCELOTI know not what I shall think of that: but I amLauncelot, the Jew's man, and I am sure Margery yourwife is my mother.

GOBBOHer name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thoube Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood.Lord worshipped might he be! what a beard hast thougot! thou hast got more hair on thy chin thanDobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.

LAUNCELOTIt should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows



backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tailthan I have of my face when I last saw him.

GOBBOLord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thymaster agree? I have brought him a present. How'gree you now?

LAUNCELOTWell, well: but, for mine own part, as I have setup my rest to run away, so I will not rest till Ihave run some ground. My master's a very Jew: givehim a present! give him a halter: I am famished inhis service; you may tell every finger I have withmy ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give meyour present to one Master Bassanio, who, indeed,gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, Iwill run as far as God has any ground. O rarefortune! here comes the man: to him, father; for Iam a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer.

[Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO and other followers]

BASSANIOYou may do so; but let it be so hasted that supperbe ready at the farthest by five of the clock. Seethese letters delivered; put the liveries to making,and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging.

[Exit a Servant]

LAUNCELOTTo him, father.

GOBBOGod bless your worship!

BASSANIOGramercy! wouldst thou aught with me?

GOBBOHere's my son, sir, a poor boy,—

LAUNCELOTNot a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man; thatwould, sir, as my father shall specify—

GOBBOHe hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve—

LAUNCELOTIndeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew,and have a desire, as my father shall specify—

GOBBOHis master and he, saving your worship's reverence,are scarce cater-cousins—

LAUNCELOTTo be brief, the very truth is that the Jew, havingdone me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being, Ihope, an old man, shall frutify unto you—



GOBBOI have here a dish of doves that I would bestow uponyour worship, and my suit is—

LAUNCELOTIn very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, asyour worship shall know by this honest old man; and,though I say it, though old man, yet poor man, my father.

BASSANIOOne speak for both. What would you?

LAUNCELOTServe you, sir.

GOBBOThat is the very defect of the matter, sir.

BASSANIOI know thee well; thou hast obtain'd thy suit:Shylock thy master spoke with me this day,And hath preferr'd thee, if it be prefermentTo leave a rich Jew's service, to becomeThe follower of so poor a gentleman.

LAUNCELOTThe old proverb is very well parted between mymaster Shylock and you, sir: you have the grace ofGod, sir, and he hath enough.

BASSANIOThou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son.Take leave of thy old master and inquireMy lodging out. Give him a liveryMore guarded than his fellows': see it done.

LAUNCELOTFather, in. I cannot get a service, no; I havene'er a tongue in my head. Well, if any man inItaly have a fairer table which doth offer to swearupon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to,here's a simple line of life: here's a small trifleof wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing! elevenwidows and nine maids is a simple coming-in for oneman: and then to 'scape drowning thrice, and to bein peril of my life with the edge of a feather-bed;here are simple scapes. Well, if Fortune be awoman, she's a good wench for this gear. Father,come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eye.

[Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo]

BASSANIOI pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this:These things being bought and orderly bestow'd,Return in haste, for I do feast to-nightMy best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go.

LEONARDOMy best endeavours shall be done herein.



[Enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANOWhere is your master?

LEONARDOYonder, sir, he walks.

[Exit]

GRATIANOSignior Bassanio!

BASSANIOGratiano!

GRATIANOI have a suit to you.

BASSANIOYou have obtain'd it.

GRATIANOYou must not deny me: I must go with you to Belmont.

BASSANIOWhy then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano;Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice;Parts that become thee happily enoughAnd in such eyes as ours appear not faults;But where thou art not known, why, there they showSomething too liberal. Pray thee, take painTo allay with some cold drops of modestyThy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild behaviorI be misconstrued in the place I go to,And lose my hopes.

GRATIANOSignior Bassanio, hear me:If I do not put on a sober habit,Talk with respect and swear but now and then,Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely,Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyesThus with my hat, and sigh and say 'amen,'Use all the observance of civility,Like one well studied in a sad ostentTo please his grandam, never trust me more.

BASSANIOWell, we shall see your bearing.

GRATIANONay, but I bar to-night: you shall not gauge meBy what we do to-night.

BASSANIONo, that were pity:I would entreat you rather to put onYour boldest suit of mirth, for we have friendsThat purpose merriment. But fare you well:I have some business.



GRATIANOAnd I must to Lorenzo and the rest:But we will visit you at supper-time.

[Exeunt]

ACT II

SCENE IIIThe same. A room in SHYLOCK'S house.

[Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT]

JESSICAI am sorry thou wilt leave my father so:Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil,Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness.But fare thee well, there is a ducat for thee:And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou seeLorenzo, who is thy new master's guest:Give him this letter; do it secretly;And so farewell: I would not have my fatherSee me in talk with thee.

LAUNCELOTAdieu! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautifulpagan, most sweet Jew! if a Christian did not playthe knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But,adieu: these foolish drops do something drown mymanly spirit: adieu.

JESSICAFarewell, good Launcelot.

[Exit Launcelot]

Alack, what heinous sin is it in meTo be ashamed to be my father's child!But though I am a daughter to his blood,I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo,If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife,Become a Christian and thy loving wife.

[Exit]

ACT II

SCENE IVThe same. A street.

[Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]

LORENZONay, we will slink away in supper-time,Disguise us at my lodging and return,All in an hour.

GRATIANOWe have not made good preparation.



SALARINOWe have not spoke us yet of torchbearers.

SALANIO'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd,And better in my mind not undertook.

LORENZO'Tis now but four o'clock: we have two hoursTo furnish us.

[Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter]

Friend Launcelot, what's the news?

LAUNCELOTAn it shall please you to break upthis, it shall seem to signify.

LORENZOI know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand;And whiter than the paper it writ onIs the fair hand that writ.

GRATIANOLove-news, in faith.

LAUNCELOTBy your leave, sir.

LORENZOWhither goest thou?

LAUNCELOTMarry, sir, to bid my old master theJew to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.

LORENZOHold here, take this: tell gentle JessicaI will not fail her; speak it privately.Go, gentlemen,

[Exit Launcelot]

Will you prepare you for this masque tonight?I am provided of a torch-bearer.

SALANIOAy, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.

SALANIOAnd so will I.

LORENZOMeet me and GratianoAt Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.

SALARINO'Tis good we do so.

[Exeunt SALARINO and SALANIO]



GRATIANOWas not that letter from fair Jessica?

LORENZOI must needs tell thee all. She hath directedHow I shall take her from her father's house,What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with,What page's suit she hath in readiness.If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven,It will be for his gentle daughter's sake:And never dare misfortune cross her foot,Unless she do it under this excuse,That she is issue to a faithless Jew.Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest:Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer.

[Exeunt]

ACT II

SCENE VThe same. Before SHYLOCK'S house.

[Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT]

SHYLOCKWell, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge,The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:—What, Jessica!—thou shalt not gormandise,As thou hast done with me:—What, Jessica!—And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;—Why, Jessica, I say!

LAUNCELOTWhy, Jessica!

SHYLOCKWho bids thee call? I do not bid thee call.

LAUNCELOTYour worship was wont to tell me thatI could do nothing without bidding.

[Enter Jessica]

JESSICACall you? what is your will?

SHYLOCKI am bid forth to supper, Jessica:There are my keys. But wherefore should I go?I am not bid for love; they flatter me:But yet I'll go in hate, to feed uponThe prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl,Look to my house. I am right loath to go:There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest,For I did dream of money-bags to-night.

LAUNCELOTI beseech you, sir, go: my young master doth expectyour reproach.



SHYLOCKSo do I his.

LAUNCELOTAn they have conspired together, I will not say youshall see a masque; but if you do, then it was notfor nothing that my nose fell a-bleeding onBlack-Monday last at six o'clock i' the morning,falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was fouryear, in the afternoon.

SHYLOCKWhat, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica:Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drumAnd the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd fife,Clamber not you up to the casements then,Nor thrust your head into the public streetTo gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces,But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements:Let not the sound of shallow foppery enterMy sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear,I have no mind of feasting forth to-night:But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah;Say I will come.

LAUNCELOTI will go before, sir. Mistress, look out atwindow, for all this, There will come a Christianboy, will be worth a Jewess' eye.

[Exit]

SHYLOCKWhat says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha?

JESSICAHis words were 'Farewell mistress;' nothing else.

SHYLOCKThe patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder;Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by dayMore than the wild-cat: drones hive not with me;Therefore I part with him, and part with himTo one that would have him help to wasteHis borrow'd purse. Well, Jessica, go in;Perhaps I will return immediately:Do as I bid you; shut doors after you:Fast bind, fast find;A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.

[Exit]

JESSICAFarewell; and if my fortune be not crost,I have a father, you a daughter, lost.

[Exit]

ACT II



SCENE VIThe same.

[Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, masqued]

GRATIANOThis is the pent-house under which LorenzoDesired us to make stand.

SALARINOHis hour is almost past.

GRATIANOAnd it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,For lovers ever run before the clock.

SALARINOO, ten times faster Venus' pigeons flyTo seal love's bonds new-made, than they are wontTo keep obliged faith unforfeited!

GRATIANOThat ever holds: who riseth from a feastWith that keen appetite that he sits down?Where is the horse that doth untread againHis tedious measures with the unbated fireThat he did pace them first? All things that are,Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.How like a younker or a prodigalThe scarfed bark puts from her native bay,Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!How like the prodigal doth she return,With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,Lean, rent and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

SALARINOHere comes Lorenzo: more of this hereafter.

[Enter LORENZO]

LORENZOSweet friends, your patience for my long abode;Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait:When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,I'll watch as long for you then. Approach;Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who's within?

[Enter JESSICA, above, in boy's clothes]

JESSICAWho are you? Tell me, for more certainty,Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.

LORENZOLorenzo, and thy love.

JESSICALorenzo, certain, and my love indeed,For who love I so much? And now who knowsBut you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?

LORENZO



Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art.

JESSICAHere, catch this casket; it is worth the pains.I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me,For I am much ashamed of my exchange:But love is blind and lovers cannot seeThe pretty follies that themselves commit;For if they could, Cupid himself would blushTo see me thus transformed to a boy.

LORENZODescend, for you must be my torchbearer.

JESSICAWhat, must I hold a candle to my shames?They in themselves, good-sooth, are too too light.Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love;And I should be obscured.

LORENZOSo are you, sweet,Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.But come at once;For the close night doth play the runaway,And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.

JESSICAI will make fast the doors, and gild myselfWith some more ducats, and be with you straight.

[Exit above]

GRATIANONow, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew.

LORENZOBeshrew me but I love her heartily;For she is wise, if I can judge of her,And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true,And true she is, as she hath proved herself,And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true,Shall she be placed in my constant soul.

[Enter JESSICA, below]

What, art thou come? On, gentlemen; away!Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.

[Exit with Jessica and Salarino]

[Enter ANTONIO]

ANTONIOWho's there?

GRATIANOSignior Antonio!

ANTONIOFie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest?'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you.



No masque to-night: the wind is come about;Bassanio presently will go aboard:I have sent twenty out to seek for you.

GRATIANOI am glad on't: I desire no more delightThan to be under sail and gone to-night.

[Exeunt]

ACT II

SCENE VIIBelmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

[Flourish of cornets. Enter PORTIA, with thePRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their trains]

PORTIAGo draw aside the curtains and discoverThe several caskets to this noble prince.Now make your choice.

MOROCCOThe first, of gold, who this inscription bears,'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;'The second, silver, which this promise carries,'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;'This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. 'How shall I know if I do choose the right?

PORTIAThe one of them contains my picture, prince:If you choose that, then I am yours withal.

MOROCCOSome god direct my judgment! Let me see;I will survey the inscriptions back again.What says this leaden casket?'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. 'Must give: for what? for lead? hazard for lead?This casket threatens. Men that hazard allDo it in hope of fair advantages:A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross;I'll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead.What says the silver with her virgin hue?'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. 'As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco,And weigh thy value with an even hand:If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enoughMay not extend so far as to the lady:And yet to be afeard of my deservingWere but a weak disabling of myself.As much as I deserve! Why, that's the lady:I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes,In graces and in qualities of breeding;But more than these, in love I do deserve.What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?Let's see once more this saying graved in gold



'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. 'Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her;From the four corners of the earth they come,To kiss this shrine, this mortal-breathing saint:The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wildsOf wide Arabia are as thoroughfares nowFor princes to come view fair Portia:The watery kingdom, whose ambitious headSpits in the face of heaven, is no barTo stop the foreign spirits, but they come,As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.One of these three contains her heavenly picture.Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere damnationTo think so base a thought: it were too grossTo rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave.Or shall I think in silver she's immured,Being ten times undervalued to tried gold?O sinful thought! Never so rich a gemWas set in worse than gold. They have in EnglandA coin that bears the figure of an angelStamped in gold, but that's insculp'd upon;But here an angel in a golden bedLies all within. Deliver me the key:Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may!

PORTIAThere, take it, prince; and if my form lie there,Then I am yours.

[He unlocks the golden casket]

MOROCCOO hell! what have we here?A carrion Death, within whose empty eyeThere is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.

[Reads]

All that glitters is not gold;Often have you heard that told:Many a man his life hath soldBut my outside to behold:Gilded tombs do worms enfold.Had you been as wise as bold,Young in limbs, in judgment old,Your answer had not been inscroll'd:Fare you well; your suit is cold.Cold, indeed; and labour lost:Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heartTo take a tedious leave: thus losers part.

[Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets]

PORTIAA gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go.Let all of his complexion choose me so.

[Exeunt]



ACT II

SCENE VIIIVenice. A street.

[Enter SALARINO and SALANIO]

SALARINOWhy, man, I saw Bassanio under sail:With him is Gratiano gone along;And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

SALANIOThe villain Jew with outcries raised the duke,Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.

SALARINOHe came too late, the ship was under sail:But there the duke was given to understandThat in a gondola were seen togetherLorenzo and his amorous Jessica:Besides, Antonio certified the dukeThey were not with Bassanio in his ship.

SALANIOI never heard a passion so confused,So strange, outrageous, and so variable,As the dog Jew did utter in the streets:'My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter!A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter!And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,Stolen by my daughter! Justice! find the girl;She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats. '

SALARINOWhy, all the boys in Venice follow him,Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

SALANIOLet good Antonio look he keep his day,Or he shall pay for this.

SALARINOMarry, well remember'd.I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,Who told me, in the narrow seas that partThe French and English, there miscarriedA vessel of our country richly fraught:I thought upon Antonio when he told me;And wish'd in silence that it were not his.

SALANIOYou were best to tell Antonio what you hear;Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

SALARINOA kinder gentleman treads not the earth.I saw Bassanio and Antonio part:Bassanio told him he would make some speed



Of his return: he answer'd, 'Do not so;Slubber not business for my sake, BassanioBut stay the very riping of the time;And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me,Let it not enter in your mind of love:Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughtsTo courtship and such fair ostents of loveAs shall conveniently become you there:'And even there, his eye being big with tears,Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,And with affection wondrous sensibleHe wrung Bassanio's hand; and so they parted.

SALANIOI think he only loves the world for him.I pray thee, let us go and find him outAnd quicken his embraced heavinessWith some delight or other.

SALARINODo we so.

[Exeunt]

ACT II

SCENE IXBelmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

[Enter NERISSA with a Servitor]

NERISSAQuick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain straight:The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,And comes to his election presently.

[Flourish of cornets. Enter the PRINCE OF ARRAGON,PORTIA, and their trains]

PORTIABehold, there stand the caskets, noble prince:If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnized:But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,You must be gone from hence immediately.

ARRAGONI am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:First, never to unfold to any oneWhich casket 'twas I chose; next, if I failOf the right casket, never in my lifeTo woo a maid in way of marriage: Lastly,If I do fail in fortune of my choice,Immediately to leave you and be gone.

PORTIATo these injunctions every one doth swearThat comes to hazard for my worthless self.

ARRAGONAnd so have I address'd me. Fortune now



To my heart's hope! Gold; silver; and base lead.'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath. 'You shall look fairer, ere I give or hazard.What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:'Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire. 'What many men desire! that 'many' may be meantBy the fool multitude, that choose by show,Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach;Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,Builds in the weather on the outward wall,Even in the force and road of casualty.I will not choose what many men desire,Because I will not jump with common spiritsAnd rank me with the barbarous multitudes.Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house;Tell me once more what title thou dost bear:'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves:'And well said too; for who shall go aboutTo cozen fortune and be honourableWithout the stamp of merit? Let none presumeTo wear an undeserved dignity.O, that estates, degrees and officesWere not derived corruptly, and that clear honourWere purchased by the merit of the wearer!How many then should cover that stand bare!How many be commanded that command!How much low peasantry would then be glean'dFrom the true seed of honour! and how much honourPick'd from the chaff and ruin of the timesTo be new-varnish'd! Well, but to my choice:'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. 'I will assume desert. Give me a key for this,And instantly unlock my fortunes here.

[He opens the silver casket]

PORTIAToo long a pause for that which you find there.

ARRAGONWhat's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot,Presenting me a schedule! I will read it.How much unlike art thou to Portia!How much unlike my hopes and my deservings!'Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves. 'Did I deserve no more than a fool's head?Is that my prize? are my deserts no better?

PORTIATo offend, and judge, are distinct officesAnd of opposed natures.

ARRAGONWhat is here?

[Reads]

The fire seven times tried this:Seven times tried that judgment is,That did never choose amiss.Some there be that shadows kiss;Such have but a shadow's bliss:



There be fools alive, I wis,Silver'd o'er; and so was this.Take what wife you will to bed,I will ever be your head:So be gone: you are sped.Still more fool I shall appearBy the time I linger hereWith one fool's head I came to woo,But I go away with two.Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath,Patiently to bear my wroth.

[Exeunt Arragon and train]

PORTIAThus hath the candle singed the moth.O, these deliberate fools! when they do choose,They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.

NERISSAThe ancient saying is no heresy,Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.

PORTIACome, draw the curtain, Nerissa.

[Enter a Servant]

ServantWhere is my lady?

PORTIAHere: what would my lord?

ServantMadam, there is alighted at your gateA young Venetian, one that comes beforeTo signify the approaching of his lord;From whom he bringeth sensible regreets,To wit, besides commends and courteous breath,Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seenSo likely an ambassador of love:A day in April never came so sweet,To show how costly summer was at hand,As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.

PORTIANo more, I pray thee: I am half afeardThou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee,Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to seeQuick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly.

NERISSABassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be!

[Exeunt]

ACT III



SCENE IVenice. A street.

[Enter SALANIO and SALARINO]

SALANIONow, what news on the Rialto?

SALARINOWhy, yet it lives there uncheck'd that Antonio hatha ship of rich lading wrecked on the narrow seas;the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a verydangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of manya tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossipReport be an honest woman of her word.

SALANIOI would she were as lying a gossip in that as everknapped ginger or made her neighbours believe shewept for the death of a third husband. But it istrue, without any slips of prolixity or crossing theplain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, thehonest Antonio,—O that I had a title good enoughto keep his name company!—

SALARINOCome, the full stop.

SALANIOHa! what sayest thou? Why, the end is, he hathlost a ship.

SALARINOI would it might prove the end of his losses.

SALANIOLet me say 'amen' betimes, lest the devil cross myprayer, for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew.

[Enter SHYLOCK]

How now, Shylock! what news among the merchants?

SHYLOCKYou know, none so well, none so well as you, of mydaughter's flight.

SALARINOThat's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailorthat made the wings she flew withal.

SALANIOAnd Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird wasfledged; and then it is the complexion of them allto leave the dam.

SHYLOCKShe is damned for it.

SALANIOThat's certain, if the devil may be her judge.



SHYLOCKMy own flesh and blood to rebel!

SALANIOOut upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years?

SHYLOCKI say, my daughter is my flesh and blood.

SALARINOThere is more difference between thy flesh and hersthan between jet and ivory; more between your bloodsthan there is between red wine and rhenish. Buttell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had anyloss at sea or no?

SHYLOCKThere I have another bad match: a bankrupt, aprodigal, who dare scarce show his head on theRialto; a beggar, that was used to come so smug uponthe mart; let him look to his bond: he was wont tocall me usurer; let him look to his bond: he waswont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let himlook to his bond.

SALARINOWhy, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not takehis flesh: what's that good for?

SHYLOCKTo bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else,it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, andhindered me half a million; laughed at my losses,mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted mybargains, cooled my friends, heated mineenemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hathnot a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed withthe same food, hurt with the same weapons, subjectto the same diseases, healed by the same means,warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, asa Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poisonus, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we notrevenge? If we are like you in the rest, we willresemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christianwrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be byChristian example? Why, revenge. The villany youteach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but Iwill better the instruction.

[Enter a Servant]

ServantGentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house anddesires to speak with you both.

SALARINOWe have been up and down to seek him.

[Enter TUBAL]



SALANIOHere comes another of the tribe: a third cannot bematched, unless the devil himself turn Jew.

[Exeunt SALANIO, SALARINO, and Servant]

SHYLOCKHow now, Tubal! what news from Genoa? hast thoufound my daughter?

TUBALI often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her.

SHYLOCKWhy, there, there, there, there! a diamond gone,cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! The cursenever fell upon our nation till now; I never felt ittill now: two thousand ducats in that; and otherprecious, precious jewels. I would my daughterwere dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear!would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats inher coffin! No news of them? Why, so: and I knownot what's spent in the search: why, thou loss uponloss! the thief gone with so much, and so much tofind the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge:nor no in luck stirring but what lights on myshoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tearsbut of my shedding.

TUBALYes, other men have ill luck too: Antonio, as Iheard in Genoa,—

SHYLOCKWhat, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?

TUBALHath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.

SHYLOCKI thank God, I thank God. Is't true, is't true?

TUBALI spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck.

SHYLOCKI thank thee, good Tubal: good news, good news!ha, ha! where? in Genoa?

TUBALYour daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, in onenight fourscore ducats.

SHYLOCKThou stickest a dagger in me: I shall never see mygold again: fourscore ducats at a sitting!fourscore ducats!

TUBALThere came divers of Antonio's creditors in mycompany to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break.



SHYLOCKI am very glad of it: I'll plague him; I'll torturehim: I am glad of it.

TUBALOne of them showed me a ring that he had of yourdaughter for a monkey.

SHYLOCKOut upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it was myturquoise; I had it of Leah when I was a bachelor:I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.

TUBALBut Antonio is certainly undone.

SHYLOCKNay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, feeme an officer; bespeak him a fortnight before. Iwill have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for, werehe out of Venice, I can make what merchandise Iwill. Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue;go, good Tubal; at our synagogue, Tubal.

[Exeunt]

ACT III

SCENE IIBelmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

[Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, andAttendants]

PORTIAI pray you, tarry: pause a day or twoBefore you hazard; for, in choosing wrong,I lose your company: therefore forbear awhile.There's something tells me, but it is not love,I would not lose you; and you know yourself,Hate counsels not in such a quality.But lest you should not understand me well,—And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,—I would detain you here some month or twoBefore you venture for me. I could teach youHow to choose right, but I am then forsworn;So will I never be: so may you miss me;But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin,That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes,They have o'erlook'd me and divided me;One half of me is yours, the other half yours,Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,And so all yours. O, these naughty timesPut bars between the owners and their rights!And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time,To eke it and to draw it out in length,To stay you from election.



BASSANIOLet me chooseFor as I am, I live upon the rack.

PORTIAUpon the rack, Bassanio! then confessWhat treason there is mingled with your love.

BASSANIONone but that ugly treason of mistrust,Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love:There may as well be amity and life'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.

PORTIAAy, but I fear you speak upon the rack,Where men enforced do speak anything.

BASSANIOPromise me life, and I'll confess the truth.

PORTIAWell then, confess and live.

BASSANIO'Confess' and 'love'Had been the very sum of my confession:O happy torment, when my torturerDoth teach me answers for deliverance!But let me to my fortune and the caskets.

PORTIAAway, then! I am lock'd in one of them:If you do love me, you will find me out.Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.Let music sound while he doth make his choice;Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end,Fading in music: that the comparisonMay stand more proper, my eye shall be the streamAnd watery death-bed for him. He may win;And what is music then? Then music isEven as the flourish when true subjects bowTo a new-crowned monarch: such it isAs are those dulcet sounds in break of dayThat creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,And summon him to marriage. Now he goes,With no less presence, but with much more love,Than young Alcides, when he did redeemThe virgin tribute paid by howling TroyTo the sea-monster: I stand for sacrificeThe rest aloof are the Dardanian wives,With bleared visages, come forth to viewThe issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules!Live thou, I live: with much, much more dismayI view the fight than thou that makest the fray.

[Music, whilst BASSANIO comments on the caskets to himself]

SONG.Tell me where is fancy bred,Or in the heart, or in the head?How begot, how nourished?



Reply, reply.It is engender'd in the eyes,With gazing fed; and fancy diesIn the cradle where it lies.Let us all ring fancy's knellI'll begin it,—Ding, dong, bell.

ALLDing, dong, bell.

BASSANIOSo may the outward shows be least themselves:The world is still deceived with ornament.In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,Obscures the show of evil? In religion,What damned error, but some sober browWill bless it and approve it with a text,Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?There is no vice so simple but assumesSome mark of virtue on his outward parts:How many cowards, whose hearts are all as falseAs stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chinsThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars;Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk;And these assume but valour's excrementTo render them redoubted! Look on beauty,And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight;Which therein works a miracle in nature,Making them lightest that wear most of it:So are those crisped snaky golden locksWhich make such wanton gambols with the wind,Upon supposed fairness, often knownTo be the dowry of a second head,The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.Thus ornament is but the guiled shoreTo a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarfVeiling an Indian beauty; in a word,The seeming truth which cunning times put onTo entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold,Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee;Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge'Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead,Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;And here choose I; joy be the consequence!

PORTIA[Aside] How all the other passions fleet to air,As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy! O love,Be moderate; allay thy ecstasy,In measure rein thy joy; scant this excess.I feel too much thy blessing: make it less,For fear I surfeit.

BASSANIOWhat find I here?

[Opening the leaden casket]

Fair Portia's counterfeit! What demi-god



Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes?Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips,Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a barShould sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairsThe painter plays the spider and hath wovenA golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,Faster than gnats in cobwebs; but her eyes,—How could he see to do them? having made one,Methinks it should have power to steal both hisAnd leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look, how farThe substance of my praise doth wrong this shadowIn underprizing it, so far this shadowDoth limp behind the substance. Here's the scroll,The continent and summary of my fortune.

[Reads]

You that choose not by the view,Chance as fair and choose as true!Since this fortune falls to you,Be content and seek no new,If you be well pleased with thisAnd hold your fortune for your bliss,Turn you where your lady isAnd claim her with a loving kiss.A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave;I come by note, to give and to receive.Like one of two contending in a prize,That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,Hearing applause and universal shout,Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubtWhether these pearls of praise be his or no;So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so;As doubtful whether what I see be true,Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you.

PORTIAYou see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand,Such as I am: though for myself aloneI would not be ambitious in my wish,To wish myself much better; yet, for youI would be trebled twenty times myself;A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;That only to stand high in your account,I might in virtue, beauties, livings, friends,Exceed account; but the full sum of meIs sum of something, which, to term in gross,Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised;Happy in this, she is not yet so oldBut she may learn; happier than this,She is not bred so dull but she can learn;Happiest of all is that her gentle spiritCommits itself to yours to be directed,As from her lord, her governor, her king.Myself and what is mine to you and yoursIs now converted: but now I was the lordOf this fair mansion, master of my servants,Queen o'er myself: and even now, but now,This house, these servants and this same myselfAre yours, my lord: I give them with this ring;Which when you part from, lose, or give away,



Let it presage the ruin of your loveAnd be my vantage to exclaim on you.

BASSANIOMadam, you have bereft me of all words,Only my blood speaks to you in my veins;And there is such confusion in my powers,As after some oration fairly spokeBy a beloved prince, there doth appearAmong the buzzing pleased multitude;Where every something, being blent together,Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,Express'd and not express'd. But when this ringParts from this finger, then parts life from hence:O, then be bold to say Bassanio's dead!

NERISSAMy lord and lady, it is now our time,That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper,To cry, good joy: good joy, my lord and lady!

GRATIANOMy lord Bassanio and my gentle lady,I wish you all the joy that you can wish;For I am sure you can wish none from me:And when your honours mean to solemnizeThe bargain of your faith, I do beseech you,Even at that time I may be married too.

BASSANIOWith all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.

GRATIANOI thank your lordship, you have got me one.My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours:You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid;You loved, I loved for intermission.No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.Your fortune stood upon the casket there,And so did mine too, as the matter falls;For wooing here until I sweat again,And sweating until my very roof was dryWith oaths of love, at last, if promise last,I got a promise of this fair one hereTo have her love, provided that your fortuneAchieved her mistress.

PORTIAIs this true, Nerissa?

NERISSAMadam, it is, so you stand pleased withal.

BASSANIOAnd do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?

GRATIANOYes, faith, my lord.

BASSANIOOur feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage.



GRATIANOWe'll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats.

NERISSAWhat, and stake down?

GRATIANONo; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down.But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? What,and my old Venetian friend Salerio?

[Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SALERIO, a Messengerfrom Venice]

BASSANIOLorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither;If that the youth of my new interest hereHave power to bid you welcome. By your leave,I bid my very friends and countrymen,Sweet Portia, welcome.

PORTIASo do I, my lord:They are entirely welcome.

LORENZOI thank your honour. For my part, my lord,My purpose was not to have seen you here;But meeting with Salerio by the way,He did entreat me, past all saying nay,To come with him along.

SALERIOI did, my lord;And I have reason for it. Signior AntonioCommends him to you.

[Gives Bassanio a letter]

BASSANIOEre I ope his letter,I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth.

SALERIONot sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;Nor well, unless in mind: his letter thereWill show you his estate.

GRATIANONerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome.Your hand, Salerio: what's the news from Venice?How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?I know he will be glad of our success;We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.

SALERIOI would you had won the fleece that he hath lost.

PORTIAThere are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,That steals the colour from Bassanio's cheek:Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world



Could turn so much the constitutionOf any constant man. What, worse and worse!With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself,And I must freely have the half of anythingThat this same paper brings you.

BASSANIOO sweet Portia,Here are a few of the unpleasant'st wordsThat ever blotted paper! Gentle lady,When I did first impart my love to you,I freely told you, all the wealth I hadRan in my veins, I was a gentleman;And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady,Rating myself at nothing, you shall seeHow much I was a braggart. When I told youMy state was nothing, I should then have told youThat I was worse than nothing; for, indeed,I have engaged myself to a dear friend,Engaged my friend to his mere enemy,To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady;The paper as the body of my friend,And every word in it a gaping wound,Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio?Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit?From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,From Lisbon, Barbary and India?And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touchOf merchant-marring rocks?

SALERIONot one, my lord.Besides, it should appear, that if he hadThe present money to discharge the Jew,He would not take it. Never did I knowA creature, that did bear the shape of man,So keen and greedy to confound a man:He plies the duke at morning and at night,And doth impeach the freedom of the state,If they deny him justice: twenty merchants,The duke himself, and the magnificoesOf greatest port, have all persuaded with him;But none can drive him from the envious pleaOf forfeiture, of justice and his bond.

JESSICAWhen I was with him I have heard him swearTo Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen,That he would rather have Antonio's fleshThan twenty times the value of the sumThat he did owe him: and I know, my lord,If law, authority and power deny not,It will go hard with poor Antonio.

PORTIAIs it your dear friend that is thus in trouble?

BASSANIOThe dearest friend to me, the kindest man,The best-condition'd and unwearied spiritIn doing courtesies, and one in whomThe ancient Roman honour more appears



Than any that draws breath in Italy.

PORTIAWhat sum owes he the Jew?

BASSANIOFor me three thousand ducats.

PORTIAWhat, no more?Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;Double six thousand, and then treble that,Before a friend of this descriptionShall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.First go with me to church and call me wife,And then away to Venice to your friend;For never shall you lie by Portia's sideWith an unquiet soul. You shall have goldTo pay the petty debt twenty times over:When it is paid, bring your true friend along.My maid Nerissa and myself meantimeWill live as maids and widows. Come, away!For you shall hence upon your wedding-day:Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer:Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear.But let me hear the letter of your friend.

BASSANIO[Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have allmiscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate isvery low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and sincein paying it, it is impossible I should live, alldebts are cleared between you and I, if I might butsee you at my death. Notwithstanding, use yourpleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come,let not my letter.

PORTIAO love, dispatch all business, and be gone!

BASSANIOSince I have your good leave to go away,I will make haste: but, till I come again,No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay,No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.

[Exeunt]

ACT III

SCENE IIIVenice. A street.

[Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and Gaoler]

SHYLOCKGaoler, look to him: tell not me of mercy;This is the fool that lent out money gratis:Gaoler, look to him.

ANTONIO



Hear me yet, good Shylock.

SHYLOCKI'll have my bond; speak not against my bond:I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond.Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause;But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs:The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder,Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fondTo come abroad with him at his request.

ANTONIOI pray thee, hear me speak.

SHYLOCKI'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more.I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yieldTo Christian intercessors. Follow not;I'll have no speaking: I will have my bond.

[Exit]

SALARINOIt is the most impenetrable curThat ever kept with men.

ANTONIOLet him alone:I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.He seeks my life; his reason well I know:I oft deliver'd from his forfeituresMany that have at times made moan to me;Therefore he hates me.

SALARINOI am sure the dukeWill never grant this forfeiture to hold.

ANTONIOThe duke cannot deny the course of law:For the commodity that strangers haveWith us in Venice, if it be denied,Will much impeach the justice of his state;Since that the trade and profit of the cityConsisteth of all nations. Therefore, go:These griefs and losses have so bated me,That I shall hardly spare a pound of fleshTo-morrow to my bloody creditor.Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio comeTo see me pay his debt, and then I care not!

[Exeunt]

ACT III

SCENE IVBelmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.

[Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, and



BALTHASAR]

LORENZOMadam, although I speak it in your presence,You have a noble and a true conceitOf godlike amity; which appears most stronglyIn bearing thus the absence of your lord.But if you knew to whom you show this honour,How true a gentleman you send relief,How dear a lover of my lord your husband,I know you would be prouder of the workThan customary bounty can enforce you.

PORTIAI never did repent for doing good,Nor shall not now: for in companionsThat do converse and waste the time together,Whose souls do bear an equal yoke Of love,There must be needs a like proportionOf lineaments, of manners and of spirit;Which makes me think that this Antonio,Being the bosom lover of my lord,Must needs be like my lord. If it be so,How little is the cost I have bestow'dIn purchasing the semblance of my soulFrom out the state of hellish misery!This comes too near the praising of myself;Therefore no more of it: hear other things.Lorenzo, I commit into your handsThe husbandry and manage of my houseUntil my lord's return: for mine own part,I have toward heaven breathed a secret vowTo live in prayer and contemplation,Only attended by Nerissa here,Until her husband and my lord's return:There is a monastery two miles off;And there will we abide. I do desire youNot to deny this imposition;The which my love and some necessityNow lays upon you.

LORENZOMadam, with all my heart;I shall obey you in all fair commands.

PORTIAMy people do already know my mind,And will acknowledge you and JessicaIn place of Lord Bassanio and myself.And so farewell, till we shall meet again.

LORENZOFair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!

JESSICAI wish your ladyship all heart's content.

PORTIAI thank you for your wish, and am well pleasedTo wish it back on you: fare you well Jessica.

[Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO]



Now, Balthasar,As I have ever found thee honest-true,So let me find thee still. Take this same letter,And use thou all the endeavour of a manIn speed to Padua: see thou render thisInto my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario;And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee,Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speedUnto the tranect, to the common ferryWhich trades to Venice. Waste no time in words,But get thee gone: I shall be there before thee.

BALTHASARMadam, I go with all convenient speed.

[Exit]

PORTIACome on, Nerissa; I have work in handThat you yet know not of: we'll see our husbandsBefore they think of us.

NERISSAShall they see us?

PORTIAThey shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit,That they shall think we are accomplishedWith that we lack. I'll hold thee any wager,When we are both accoutred like young men,I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two,And wear my dagger with the braver grace,And speak between the change of man and boyWith a reed voice, and turn two mincing stepsInto a manly stride, and speak of fraysLike a fine bragging youth, and tell quaint lies,How honourable ladies sought my love,Which I denying, they fell sick and died;I could not do withal; then I'll repent,And wish for all that, that I had not killed them;And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell,That men shall swear I have discontinued schoolAbove a twelvemonth. I have within my mindA thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks,Which I will practise.

NERISSAWhy, shall we turn to men?

PORTIAFie, what a question's that,If thou wert near a lewd interpreter!But come, I'll tell thee all my whole deviceWhen I am in my coach, which stays for usAt the park gate; and therefore haste away,For we must measure twenty miles to-day.

[Exeunt]



ACT III

SCENE VThe same. A garden.

[Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA]

LAUNCELOTYes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the fatherare to be laid upon the children: therefore, Ipromise ye, I fear you. I was always plain withyou, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter:therefore be of good cheer, for truly I think youare damned. There is but one hope in it that can doyou any good; and that is but a kind of bastardhope neither.

JESSICAAnd what hope is that, I pray thee?

LAUNCELOTMarry, you may partly hope that your father got younot, that you are not the Jew's daughter.

JESSICAThat were a kind of bastard hope, indeed: so thesins of my mother should be visited upon me.

LAUNCELOTTruly then I fear you are damned both by father andmother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, Ifall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you aregone both ways.

JESSICAI shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me aChristian.

LAUNCELOTTruly, the more to blame he: we were Christiansenow before; e'en as many as could well live, one byanother. This making Christians will raise theprice of hogs: if we grow all to be pork-eaters, weshall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money.

[Enter LORENZO]

JESSICAI'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes.

LORENZOI shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, ifyou thus get my wife into corners.

JESSICANay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo: Launcelot and Iare out. He tells me flatly, there is no mercy forme in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter: and hesays, you are no good member of the commonwealth,for in converting Jews to Christians, you raise theprice of pork.



LORENZOI shall answer that better to the commonwealth thanyou can the getting up of the negro's belly: theMoor is with child by you, Launcelot.

LAUNCELOTIt is much that the Moor should be more than reason:but if she be less than an honest woman, she isindeed more than I took her for.

LORENZOHow every fool can play upon the word! I think thebest grace of wit will shortly turn into silence,and discourse grow commendable in none only butparrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner.

LAUNCELOTThat is done, sir; they have all stomachs.

LORENZOGoodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bidthem prepare dinner.

LAUNCELOTThat is done too, sir; only 'cover' is the word.

LORENZOWill you cover then, sir?

LAUNCELOTNot so, sir, neither; I know my duty.

LORENZOYet more quarrelling with occasion! Wilt thou showthe whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I praytree, understand a plain man in his plain meaning:go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, servein the meat, and we will come in to dinner.

LAUNCELOTFor the table, sir, it shall be served in; for themeat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming into dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours andconceits shall govern.

[Exit]

LORENZOO dear discretion, how his words are suited!The fool hath planted in his memoryAn army of good words; and I do knowA many fools, that stand in better place,Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy wordDefy the matter. How cheerest thou, Jessica?And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife?

JESSICAPast all expressing. It is very meetThe Lord Bassanio live an upright life;For, having such a blessing in his lady,He finds the joys of heaven here on earth;



And if on earth he do not mean it, thenIn reason he should never come to heavenWhy, if two gods should play some heavenly matchAnd on the wager lay two earthly women,And Portia one, there must be something elsePawn'd with the other, for the poor rude worldHath not her fellow.

LORENZOEven such a husbandHast thou of me as she is for a wife.

JESSICANay, but ask my opinion too of that.

LORENZOI will anon: first, let us go to dinner.

JESSICANay, let me praise you while I have a stomach.

LORENZONo, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk;'Then, howso'er thou speak'st, 'mong other thingsI shall digest it.

JESSICAWell, I'll set you forth.

[Exeunt]

ACT IV

SCENE IVenice. A court of justice.

[Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO,GRATIANO, SALERIO, and others]

DUKEWhat, is Antonio here?

ANTONIOReady, so please your grace.

DUKEI am sorry for thee: thou art come to answerA stony adversary, an inhuman wretchuncapable of pity, void and emptyFrom any dram of mercy.

ANTONIOI have heardYour grace hath ta'en great pains to qualifyHis rigorous course; but since he stands obdurateAnd that no lawful means can carry meOut of his envy's reach, I do opposeMy patience to his fury, and am arm'dTo suffer, with a quietness of spirit,The very tyranny and rage of his.



DUKEGo one, and call the Jew into the court.

SALERIOHe is ready at the door: he comes, my lord.

[Enter SHYLOCK]

DUKEMake room, and let him stand before our face.Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy maliceTo the last hour of act; and then 'tis thoughtThou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strangeThan is thy strange apparent cruelty;And where thou now exact'st the penalty,Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture,But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,Forgive a moiety of the principal;Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,That have of late so huddled on his back,Enow to press a royal merchant downAnd pluck commiseration of his stateFrom brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint,From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'dTo offices of tender courtesy.We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

SHYLOCKI have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;And by our holy Sabbath have I swornTo have the due and forfeit of my bond:If you deny it, let the danger lightUpon your charter and your city's freedom.You'll ask me, why I rather choose to haveA weight of carrion flesh than to receiveThree thousand ducats: I'll not answer that:But, say, it is my humour: is it answer'd?What if my house be troubled with a ratAnd I be pleased to give ten thousand ducatsTo have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet?Some men there are love not a gaping pig;Some, that are mad if they behold a cat;And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose,Cannot contain their urine: for affection,Mistress of passion, sways it to the moodOf what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer:As there is no firm reason to be render'd,Why he cannot abide a gaping pig;Why he, a harmless necessary cat;Why he, a woollen bagpipe; but of forceMust yield to such inevitable shameAs to offend, himself being offended;So can I give no reason, nor I will not,More than a lodged hate and a certain loathingI bear Antonio, that I follow thusA losing suit against him. Are you answer'd?

BASSANIOThis is no answer, thou unfeeling man,



To excuse the current of thy cruelty.

SHYLOCKI am not bound to please thee with my answers.

BASSANIODo all men kill the things they do not love?

SHYLOCKHates any man the thing he would not kill?

BASSANIOEvery offence is not a hate at first.

SHYLOCKWhat, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice?

ANTONIOI pray you, think you question with the Jew:You may as well go stand upon the beachAnd bid the main flood bate his usual height;You may as well use question with the wolfWhy he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;You may as well forbid the mountain pinesTo wag their high tops and to make no noise,When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven;You may as well do anything most hard,As seek to soften that—than which what's harder?—His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you,Make no more offers, use no farther means,But with all brief and plain conveniencyLet me have judgment and the Jew his will.

BASSANIOFor thy three thousand ducats here is six.

SHYLOCKWhat judgment shall I dread, doingWere in six parts and every part a ducat,I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

DUKEHow shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

SHYLOCKWhat judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?You have among you many a purchased slave,Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules,You use in abject and in slavish parts,Because you bought them: shall I say to you,Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?Why sweat they under burthens? let their bedsBe made as soft as yours and let their palatesBe season'd with such viands? You will answer'The slaves are ours:' so do I answer you:The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,Is dearly bought; 'tis mine and I will have it.If you deny me, fie upon your law!There is no force in the decrees of Venice.I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?

DUKE



Upon my power I may dismiss this court,Unless Bellario, a learned doctor,Whom I have sent for to determine this,Come here to-day.

SALERIOMy lord, here stays withoutA messenger with letters from the doctor,New come from Padua.

DUKEBring us the letter; call the messenger.

BASSANIOGood cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet!The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones and all,Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.

ANTONIOI am a tainted wether of the flock,Meetest for death: the weakest kind of fruitDrops earliest to the ground; and so let meYou cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,Than to live still and write mine epitaph.

[Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyer's clerk]

DUKECame you from Padua, from Bellario?

NERISSAFrom both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace.

[Presenting a letter]

BASSANIOWhy dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

SHYLOCKTo cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there.

GRATIANONot on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,Thou makest thy knife keen; but no metal can,No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keennessOf thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

SHYLOCKNo, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

GRATIANOO, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog!And for thy life let justice be accused.Thou almost makest me waver in my faithTo hold opinion with Pythagoras,That souls of animals infuse themselvesInto the trunks of men: thy currish spiritGovern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter,Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam,Infused itself in thee; for thy desiresAre wolvish, bloody, starved and ravenous.



SHYLOCKTill thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud:Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fallTo cureless ruin. I stand here for law.

DUKEThis letter from Bellario doth commendA young and learned doctor to our court.Where is he?

NERISSAHe attendeth here hard by,To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.

DUKEWith all my heart. Some three or four of youGo give him courteous conduct to this place.Meantime the court shall hear Bellario's letter.

Clerk[Reads]

Your grace shall understand that at the receipt ofyour letter I am very sick: but in the instant thatyour messenger came, in loving visitation was withme a young doctor of Rome; his name is Balthasar. Iacquainted him with the cause in controversy betweenthe Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o'ermany books together: he is furnished with myopinion; which, bettered with his own learning, thegreatness whereof I cannot enough commend, comeswith him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace'srequest in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack ofyears be no impediment to let him lack a reverendestimation; for I never knew so young a body with soold a head. I leave him to your graciousacceptance, whose trial shall better publish hiscommendation.

DUKEYou hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes:And here, I take it, is the doctor come.

[Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws]

Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

PORTIAI did, my lord.

DUKEYou are welcome: take your place.Are you acquainted with the differenceThat holds this present question in the court?

PORTIAI am informed thoroughly of the cause.Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

DUKE



Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.

PORTIAIs your name Shylock?

SHYLOCKShylock is my name.

PORTIAOf a strange nature is the suit you follow;Yet in such rule that the Venetian lawCannot impugn you as you do proceed.You stand within his danger, do you not?

ANTONIOAy, so he says.

PORTIADo you confess the bond?

ANTONIOI do.

PORTIAThen must the Jew be merciful.

SHYLOCKOn what compulsion must I? tell me that.

PORTIAThe quality of mercy is not strain'd,It droppeth as the gentle rain from heavenUpon the place beneath: it is twice blest;It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomesThe throned monarch better than his crown;His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,The attribute to awe and majesty,Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;But mercy is above this sceptred sway;It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,It is an attribute to God himself;And earthly power doth then show likest God'sWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,Though justice be thy plea, consider this,That, in the course of justice, none of usShould see salvation: we do pray for mercy;And that same prayer doth teach us all to renderThe deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus muchTo mitigate the justice of thy plea;Which if thou follow, this strict court of VeniceMust needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.

SHYLOCKMy deeds upon my head! I crave the law,The penalty and forfeit of my bond.

PORTIAIs he not able to discharge the money?

BASSANIOYes, here I tender it for him in the court;



Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice,I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er,On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:If this will not suffice, it must appearThat malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,Wrest once the law to your authority:To do a great right, do a little wrong,And curb this cruel devil of his will.

PORTIAIt must not be; there is no power in VeniceCan alter a decree established:'Twill be recorded for a precedent,And many an error by the same exampleWill rush into the state: it cannot be.

SHYLOCKA Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!O wise young judge, how I do honour thee!

PORTIAI pray you, let me look upon the bond.

SHYLOCKHere 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.

PORTIAShylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

SHYLOCKAn oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?No, not for Venice.

PORTIAWhy, this bond is forfeit;And lawfully by this the Jew may claimA pound of flesh, to be by him cut offNearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful:Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond.

SHYLOCKWhen it is paid according to the tenor.It doth appear you are a worthy judge;You know the law, your expositionHath been most sound: I charge you by the law,Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swearThere is no power in the tongue of manTo alter me: I stay here on my bond.

ANTONIOMost heartily I do beseech the courtTo give the judgment.

PORTIAWhy then, thus it is:You must prepare your bosom for his knife.

SHYLOCKO noble judge! O excellent young man!



PORTIAFor the intent and purpose of the lawHath full relation to the penalty,Which here appeareth due upon the bond.

SHYLOCK'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

PORTIATherefore lay bare your bosom.

SHYLOCKAy, his breast:So says the bond: doth it not, noble judge?'Nearest his heart:' those are the very words.

PORTIAIt is so. Are there balance here to weighThe flesh?

SHYLOCKI have them ready.

PORTIAHave by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.

SHYLOCKIs it so nominated in the bond?

PORTIAIt is not so express'd: but what of that?'Twere good you do so much for charity.

SHYLOCKI cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond.

PORTIAYou, merchant, have you any thing to say?

ANTONIOBut little: I am arm'd and well prepared.Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;For herein Fortune shows herself more kindThan is her custom: it is still her useTo let the wretched man outlive his wealth,To view with hollow eye and wrinkled browAn age of poverty; from which lingering penanceOf such misery doth she cut me off.Commend me to your honourable wife:Tell her the process of Antonio's end;Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death;And, when the tale is told, bid her be judgeWhether Bassanio had not once a love.Repent but you that you shall lose your friend,And he repents not that he pays your debt;For if the Jew do cut but deep enough,I'll pay it presently with all my heart.

BASSANIO



Antonio, I am married to a wifeWhich is as dear to me as life itself;But life itself, my wife, and all the world,Are not with me esteem'd above thy life:I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them allHere to this devil, to deliver you.

PORTIAYour wife would give you little thanks for that,If she were by, to hear you make the offer.

GRATIANOI have a wife, whom, I protest, I love:I would she were in heaven, so she couldEntreat some power to change this currish Jew.

NERISSA'Tis well you offer it behind her back;The wish would make else an unquiet house.

SHYLOCKThese be the Christian husbands. I have a daughter;Would any of the stock of BarrabasHad been her husband rather than a Christian!

[Aside]

We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence.

PORTIAA pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

SHYLOCKMost rightful judge!

PORTIAAnd you must cut this flesh from off his breast:The law allows it, and the court awards it.

SHYLOCKMost learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare!

PORTIATarry a little; there is something else.This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh:'Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shedOne drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goodsAre, by the laws of Venice, confiscateUnto the state of Venice.

GRATIANOO upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!

SHYLOCKIs that the law?

PORTIAThyself shalt see the act:For, as thou urgest justice, be assured



Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.

GRATIANOO learned judge! Mark, Jew: a learned judge!

SHYLOCKI take this offer, then; pay the bond thriceAnd let the Christian go.

BASSANIOHere is the money.

PORTIASoft!The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:He shall have nothing but the penalty.

GRATIANOO Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

PORTIATherefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh.Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor moreBut just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st moreOr less than a just pound, be it but so muchAs makes it light or heavy in the substance,Or the division of the twentieth partOf one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turnBut in the estimation of a hair,Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate.

GRATIANOA second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!Now, infidel, I have you on the hip.

PORTIAWhy doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture.

SHYLOCKGive me my principal, and let me go.

BASSANIOI have it ready for thee; here it is.

PORTIAHe hath refused it in the open court:He shall have merely justice and his bond.

GRATIANOA Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

SHYLOCKShall I not have barely my principal?

PORTIAThou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

SHYLOCKWhy, then the devil give him good of it!I'll stay no longer question.



PORTIATarry, Jew:The law hath yet another hold on you.It is enacted in the laws of Venice,If it be proved against an alienThat by direct or indirect attemptsHe seek the life of any citizen,The party 'gainst the which he doth contriveShall seize one half his goods; the other halfComes to the privy coffer of the state;And the offender's life lies in the mercyOf the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;For it appears, by manifest proceeding,That indirectly and directly tooThou hast contrived against the very lifeOf the defendant; and thou hast incurr'dThe danger formerly by me rehearsed.Down therefore and beg mercy of the duke.

GRATIANOBeg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,Thou hast not left the value of a cord;Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge.

DUKEThat thou shalt see the difference of our spirits,I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;The other half comes to the general state,Which humbleness may drive unto a fine.

PORTIAAy, for the state, not for Antonio.

SHYLOCKNay, take my life and all; pardon not that:You take my house when you do take the propThat doth sustain my house; you take my lifeWhen you do take the means whereby I live.

PORTIAWhat mercy can you render him, Antonio?

GRATIANOA halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake.

ANTONIOSo please my lord the duke and all the courtTo quit the fine for one half of his goods,I am content; so he will let me haveThe other half in use, to render it,Upon his death, unto the gentlemanThat lately stole his daughter:Two things provided more, that, for this favour,He presently become a Christian;The other, that he do record a gift,Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter.



DUKEHe shall do this, or else I do recantThe pardon that I late pronounced here.

PORTIAArt thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

SHYLOCKI am content.

PORTIAClerk, draw a deed of gift.

SHYLOCKI pray you, give me leave to go from hence;I am not well: send the deed after me,And I will sign it.

DUKEGet thee gone, but do it.

GRATIANOIn christening shalt thou have two god-fathers:Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.

[Exit SHYLOCK]

DUKESir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.

PORTIAI humbly do desire your grace of pardon:I must away this night toward Padua,And it is meet I presently set forth.

DUKEI am sorry that your leisure serves you not.Antonio, gratify this gentleman,For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.

[Exeunt Duke and his train]

BASSANIOMost worthy gentleman, I and my friendHave by your wisdom been this day acquittedOf grievous penalties; in lieu whereof,Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,We freely cope your courteous pains withal.

ANTONIOAnd stand indebted, over and above,In love and service to you evermore.

PORTIAHe is well paid that is well satisfied;And I, delivering you, am satisfiedAnd therein do account myself well paid:My mind was never yet more mercenary.I pray you, know me when we meet again:I wish you well, and so I take my leave.



BASSANIODear sir, of force I must attempt you further:Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you,Not to deny me, and to pardon me.

PORTIAYou press me far, and therefore I will yield.

[To ANTONIO]

Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;

[To BASSANIO]

And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you:Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more;And you in love shall not deny me this.

BASSANIOThis ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle!I will not shame myself to give you this.

PORTIAI will have nothing else but only this;And now methinks I have a mind to it.

BASSANIOThere's more depends on this than on the value.The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,And find it out by proclamation:Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

PORTIAI see, sir, you are liberal in offersYou taught me first to beg; and now methinksYou teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.

BASSANIOGood sir, this ring was given me by my wife;And when she put it on, she made me vowThat I should neither sell nor give nor lose it.

PORTIAThat 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts.An if your wife be not a mad-woman,And know how well I have deserved the ring,She would not hold out enemy for ever,For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you!

[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa]

ANTONIOMy Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:Let his deservings and my love withalBe valued against your wife's commandment.

BASSANIOGo, Gratiano, run and overtake him;Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,Unto Antonio's house: away! make haste.



[Exit Gratiano]

Come, you and I will thither presently;And in the morning early will we bothFly toward Belmont: come, Antonio.

[Exeunt]

ACT IV

SCENE IIThe same. A street.


PORTIAInquire the Jew's house out, give him this deedAnd let him sign it: we'll away to-nightAnd be a day before our husbands home:This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.

[Enter GRATIANO]

GRATIANOFair sir, you are well o'erta'enMy Lord Bassanio upon more adviceHath sent you here this ring, and doth entreatYour company at dinner.

PORTIAThat cannot be:His ring I do accept most thankfully:And so, I pray you, tell him: furthermore,I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house.

GRATIANOThat will I do.

NERISSASir, I would speak with you.

[Aside to PORTIA]

I'll see if I can get my husband's ring,Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.

PORTIA[Aside to NERISSA] Thou mayst, I warrant.We shall have old swearingThat they did give the rings away to men;But we'll outface them, and outswear them too.

[Aloud]

Away! make haste: thou knowist where I will tarry.

NERISSACome, good sir, will you show me to this house?

[Exeunt]



ACT V

SCENE IBelmont. Avenue to PORTIA'S house.

[Enter LORENZO and JESSICA]

LORENZOThe moon shines bright: in such a night as this,When the sweet wind did gently kiss the treesAnd they did make no noise, in such a nightTroilus methinks mounted the Troyan wallsAnd sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents,Where Cressid lay that night.

JESSICAIn such a nightDid Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dewAnd saw the lion's shadow ere himselfAnd ran dismay'd away.

LORENZOIn such a nightStood Dido with a willow in her handUpon the wild sea banks and waft her loveTo come again to Carthage.

JESSICAIn such a nightMedea gather'd the enchanted herbsThat did renew old AEson.

LORENZOIn such a nightDid Jessica steal from the wealthy JewAnd with an unthrift love did run from VeniceAs far as Belmont.

JESSICAIn such a nightDid young Lorenzo swear he loved her well,Stealing her soul with many vows of faithAnd ne'er a true one.

LORENZOIn such a nightDid pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,Slander her love, and he forgave it her.

JESSICAI would out-night you, did no body come;But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.

[Enter STEPHANO]

LORENZOWho comes so fast in silence of the night?

STEPHANOA friend.



LORENZOA friend! what friend? your name, I pray you, friend?

STEPHANOStephano is my name; and I bring wordMy mistress will before the break of dayBe here at Belmont; she doth stray aboutBy holy crosses, where she kneels and praysFor happy wedlock hours.

LORENZOWho comes with her?

STEPHANONone but a holy hermit and her maid.I pray you, is my master yet return'd?

LORENZOHe is not, nor we have not heard from him.But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,And ceremoniously let us prepareSome welcome for the mistress of the house.

[Enter LAUNCELOT]

LAUNCELOTSola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola!

LORENZOWho calls?

LAUNCELOTSola! did you see Master Lorenzo?Master Lorenzo, sola, sola!

LORENZOLeave hollaing, man: here.

LAUNCELOTSola! where? where?

LORENZOHere.

LAUNCELOTTell him there's a post come from my master, withhis horn full of good news: my master will be hereere morning.

[Exit]

LORENZOSweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming.And yet no matter: why should we go in?My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you,Within the house, your mistress is at hand;And bring your music forth into the air.

[Exit Stephano]

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!Here will we sit and let the sounds of music



Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the nightBecome the touches of sweet harmony.Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'stBut in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;Such harmony is in immortal souls;But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

[Enter Musicians]

Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn!With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,And draw her home with music.

[Music]

JESSICAI am never merry when I hear sweet music.

LORENZOThe reason is, your spirits are attentive:For do but note a wild and wanton herd,Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,Which is the hot condition of their blood;If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound,Or any air of music touch their ears,You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gazeBy the sweet power of music: therefore the poetDid feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods;Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage,But music for the time doth change his nature.The man that hath no music in himself,Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;The motions of his spirit are dull as nightAnd his affections dark as Erebus:Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.


PORTIAThat light we see is burning in my hall.How far that little candle throws his beams!So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

NERISSAWhen the moon shone, we did not see the candle.

PORTIASo doth the greater glory dim the less:A substitute shines brightly as a kingUnto the king be by, and then his stateEmpties itself, as doth an inland brookInto the main of waters. Music! hark!

NERISSAIt is your music, madam, of the house.



PORTIANothing is good, I see, without respect:Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.

NERISSASilence bestows that virtue on it, madam.

PORTIAThe crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,When neither is attended, and I thinkThe nightingale, if she should sing by day,When every goose is cackling, would be thoughtNo better a musician than the wren.How many things by season season'd areTo their right praise and true perfection!Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with EndymionAnd would not be awaked.

[Music ceases]

LORENZOThat is the voice,Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

PORTIAHe knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo,By the bad voice.

LORENZODear lady, welcome home.

PORTIAWe have been praying for our husbands' healths,Which speed, we hope, the better for our words.Are they return'd?

LORENZOMadam, they are not yet;But there is come a messenger before,To signify their coming.

PORTIAGo in, Nerissa;Give order to my servants that they takeNo note at all of our being absent hence;Nor you, Lorenzo; Jessica, nor you.

[A tucket sounds]

LORENZOYour husband is at hand; I hear his trumpet:We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not.

PORTIAThis night methinks is but the daylight sick;It looks a little paler: 'tis a day,Such as the day is when the sun is hid.

[Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, andtheir followers]



BASSANIOWe should hold day with the Antipodes,If you would walk in absence of the sun.

PORTIALet me give light, but let me not be light;For a light wife doth make a heavy husband,And never be Bassanio so for me:But God sort all! You are welcome home, my lord.

BASSANIOI thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend.This is the man, this is Antonio,To whom I am so infinitely bound.

PORTIAYou should in all sense be much bound to him.For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.

ANTONIONo more than I am well acquitted of.

PORTIASir, you are very welcome to our house:It must appear in other ways than words,Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy.

GRATIANO[To NERISSA] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong;In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk:Would he were gelt that had it, for my part,Since you do take it, love, so much at heart.

PORTIAA quarrel, ho, already! what's the matter?

GRATIANOAbout a hoop of gold, a paltry ringThat she did give me, whose posy wasFor all the world like cutler's poetryUpon a knife, 'Love me, and leave me not. '

NERISSAWhat talk you of the posy or the value?You swore to me, when I did give it you,That you would wear it till your hour of deathAnd that it should lie with you in your grave:Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,You should have been respective and have kept it.Gave it a judge's clerk! no, God's my judge,The clerk will ne'er wear hair on's face that had it.

GRATIANOHe will, an if he live to be a man.

NERISSAAy, if a woman live to be a man.

GRATIANONow, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,A kind of boy, a little scrubbed boy,No higher than thyself; the judge's clerk,



A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee:I could not for my heart deny it him.

PORTIAYou were to blame, I must be plain with you,To part so slightly with your wife's first gift:A thing stuck on with oaths upon your fingerAnd so riveted with faith unto your flesh.I gave my love a ring and made him swearNever to part with it; and here he stands;I dare be sworn for him he would not leave itNor pluck it from his finger, for the wealthThat the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief:An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.

BASSANIO[Aside] Why, I were best to cut my left hand offAnd swear I lost the ring defending it.

GRATIANOMy Lord Bassanio gave his ring awayUnto the judge that begg'd it and indeedDeserved it too; and then the boy, his clerk,That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine;And neither man nor master would take aughtBut the two rings.

PORTIAWhat ring gave you my lord?Not that, I hope, which you received of me.

BASSANIOIf I could add a lie unto a fault,I would deny it; but you see my fingerHath not the ring upon it; it is gone.

PORTIAEven so void is your false heart of truth.By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bedUntil I see the ring.

NERISSANor I in yoursTill I again see mine.

BASSANIOSweet Portia,If you did know to whom I gave the ring,If you did know for whom I gave the ringAnd would conceive for what I gave the ringAnd how unwillingly I left the ring,When nought would be accepted but the ring,You would abate the strength of your displeasure.

PORTIAIf you had known the virtue of the ring,Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,Or your own honour to contain the ring,You would not then have parted with the ring.What man is there so much unreasonable,If you had pleased to have defended it



With any terms of zeal, wanted the modestyTo urge the thing held as a ceremony?Nerissa teaches me what to believe:I'll die for't but some woman had the ring.

BASSANIONo, by my honour, madam, by my soul,No woman had it, but a civil doctor,Which did refuse three thousand ducats of meAnd begg'd the ring; the which I did deny himAnd suffer'd him to go displeased away;Even he that did uphold the very lifeOf my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady?I was enforced to send it after him;I was beset with shame and courtesy;My honour would not let ingratitudeSo much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady;For, by these blessed candles of the night,Had you been there, I think you would have begg'dThe ring of me to give the worthy doctor.

PORTIALet not that doctor e'er come near my house:Since he hath got the jewel that I loved,And that which you did swear to keep for me,I will become as liberal as you;I'll not deny him any thing I have,No, not my body nor my husband's bed:Know him I shall, I am well sure of it:Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus:If you do not, if I be left alone,Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own,I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.

NERISSAAnd I his clerk; therefore be well advisedHow you do leave me to mine own protection.

GRATIANOWell, do you so; let not me take him, then;For if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen.

ANTONIOI am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.

PORTIASir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwithstanding.

BASSANIOPortia, forgive me this enforced wrong;And, in the hearing of these many friends,I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes,Wherein I see myself—

PORTIAMark you but that!In both my eyes he doubly sees himself;In each eye, one: swear by your double self,And there's an oath of credit.

BASSANIONay, but hear me:



Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swearI never more will break an oath with thee.

ANTONIOI once did lend my body for his wealth;Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again,My soul upon the forfeit, that your lordWill never more break faith advisedly.

PORTIAThen you shall be his surety. Give him thisAnd bid him keep it better than the other.

ANTONIOHere, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring.

BASSANIOBy heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor!

PORTIAI had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio;For, by this ring, the doctor lay with me.

NERISSAAnd pardon me, my gentle Gratiano;For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk,In lieu of this last night did lie with me.

GRATIANOWhy, this is like the mending of highwaysIn summer, where the ways are fair enough:What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it?

PORTIASpeak not so grossly. You are all amazed:Here is a letter; read it at your leisure;It comes from Padua, from Bellario:There you shall find that Portia was the doctor,Nerissa there her clerk: Lorenzo hereShall witness I set forth as soon as youAnd even but now return'd; I have not yetEnter'd my house. Antonio, you are welcome;And I have better news in store for youThan you expect: unseal this letter soon;There you shall find three of your argosiesAre richly come to harbour suddenly:You shall not know by what strange accidentI chanced on this letter.

ANTONIOI am dumb.

BASSANIOWere you the doctor and I knew you not?

GRATIANOWere you the clerk that is to make me cuckold?

NERISSAAy, but the clerk that never means to do it,Unless he live until he be a man.



BASSANIOSweet doctor, you shall be my bed-fellow:When I am absent, then lie with my wife.

ANTONIOSweet lady, you have given me life and living;For here I read for certain that my shipsAre safely come to road.

PORTIAHow now, Lorenzo!My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.

NERISSAAy, and I'll give them him without a fee.There do I give to you and Jessica,From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift,After his death, of all he dies possess'd of.

LORENZOFair ladies, you drop manna in the wayOf starved people.

PORTIAIt is almost morning,And yet I am sure you are not satisfiedOf these events at full. Let us go in;And charge us there upon inter'gatories,And we will answer all things faithfully.

GRATIANOLet it be so: the first inter'gatoryThat my Nerissa shall be sworn on is,Whether till the next night she had rather stay,Or go to bed now, being two hours to day:But were the day come, I should wish it dark,That I were couching with the doctor's clerk.Well, while I live I'll fear no other thingSo sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring.

[Exeunt]


Education

William Shakespeare The Merchant Of Venice